After-hours
by Kvhottie
Summary: When talking about what makes a perfect dancer, Oikawa had it all—the height, a lean body, the perfect technique, and flexibility. But the current lyrical piece that his college's contemporary dance group was working on called for more than his usually fluid and graceful form. It needed a visceral yet controlled power to every step, something that Oikawa had trouble with. And to ma
1. Ecarté

' _You are lacking expression_ ' ceaselessly echoed in Oikawa's mind and worked holes into the dents that were already forming in his confidence. Those were the words that his teacher shouted at him in practice today. They caused so much shock that his hands slacked just a bit and he almost dropped the girl he was lifting.

Oikawa was not used to negative feedback.

When talking about what makes a perfect dancer, Oikawa had it all—the height, a lean body, the perfect technique, and flexibility. But the current lyrical piece that his college's contemporary dance group was working on called for more than his usually fluid and graceful form. It needed a visceral yet controlled power to every step, something that Oikawa had trouble with. And to make matters worse, it was Iwaizumi's forte.

Oikawa saw Iwaizumi as a rival. And although he believed Iwaizumi's bulky body was better suited for American football, he couldn't help but be jealous of the other's raw movements, high jumps, and mastery of improvisation. Oikawa caught himself staring at Iwaizumi a bit too much, and even when he chanted that it was for the sake of self-improvement, he understood that it was involuntary; the way Iwaizumi's tan muscles produced such precise and dynamic turns never failed to capture his attention. This odd mix of admiration and envy pushed him to seek Iwaizumi's attention through overconfident statements, stupid jokes, or silly faces every time their eyes met. But Iwaizumi would barely reciprocate; he'd usually shrug and very occasionally, furrow his eyebrows in annoyance. Oikawa had never before sought validation from another person, so not getting it from Iwaizumi was making him impatient.

And these bubbling feelings, along with the jab to his ego from today's practice, felt like acid in his stomach. So, like he did with most of his problems, he stayed in the studio after practice to drill these frustrations away. Oikawa walked over to his dance bag in search for bobby pins to get his damp hair of out his face. He then took out his lyrical pirouette shoes— he barely got to use them as a male in contemporary dance—and slid them on. He had a secret; when he was alone like this, he often practiced the female parts of the dance. They got all the fun leaps and jumps, and Oikawa had learned all the moves from just watching them do the routine countless times. No one was watching, anyway; he could have all the fun he wanted.

He rolled his black tights up to his knees and walked over to the stereo to play the song. They were using some English song called "You Found Me" by The Fray. Even though he barely knew what the song was saying his teacher explained it was about loss of faith and loneliness. It made Oikawa chuckle a bit; the song was causing those exact feeling in him, yet, he couldn't express that. He stretched his neck and played the song, closing his eyes and getting into the starting position.

He gave himself to that pained, husky voice and thundering drums. The vibrations of the piano and the guitar guided him though the first few counts of floor work but just as he came down from a pirouette, he heard shuffling behind him. He halted and turned around to see a grinning Iwaizumi by the door.

"Idiot, if you danced like that during class, the teacher would stop nagging you."

"Well, you see" Oikawa said breathlessly, using the bottom of his white t-shirt to wipe his face, "If you haven't noticed, I'm a guy, so I can't do the girl parts in class."

Iwaizumi walked into the studio and dropped his bag besides Oikawa's, "Not that, smartass. I mean with that much emotion. You know, I never liked your dancing; it felt superficial and forced, but when I see you like this, it's like you're a different person".

Oikawa pouted, "You jerk. You only wish you were half as graceful as me."

"Yeah, sure."

"Whatever." Oikawa stopped the song, "Why are you even here?"

Iwaizumi shrugged, "I thought a certain idiot was going to overwork himself."

"Aw, Iwa-chan was worried about me?"

"No, I wasn't." Iwaizumi huffed, "Just shut up. You have issues with expression right? I can help you."

"How?"

Iwaizumi reached out his hand, "Let's do the routine together. Since you seem to have fun with the girl part, we can practice the duet."

"But you are shorter than me" Oikawa sneered.

"That doesn't matter!" Iwaizumi played the song and pulled Oikawa to the center of the floor.

They got into their starting positions and Oikawa pressed his chest in an attempt to still his heart; in theory he knew how duets were supposed to work from the girl's prospective, but he had never actually experienced anything like it. It was obvious that Iwaizumi was ripped, but could he actually support all of Oikawa's weight? He bit his lip; he didn't have much of a choice but to trust him at this point. The first few eight counts had them apart so Oikawa was still a bit stiff, embarrassment lacing his every gesture, but the moment Iwaizumi grabbed his hand for a mirrored leg extension, every worry he had dissolved. Iwaizumi's hand was warm and rough against his. Every touch and breath they shared though the music's narrative seared his skin and made him think, ' ah, this is what a duet is supposed to feel like'. The way Iwaizumi's fingers gently sat on Oikawa's waist for every assisted pirouette, or how they slightly dug into him when they did an arabesque press, made Oikawa's breath catch. Without a need for words, their bodies were communicating.

Oikawa wanted to break this tension with a stupid comment, but he was too lost in the rhythm of the song and the serious brown eyes peering into his own to even laugh. So he didn't hesitate with the last move of the routine, even though a more reasonable person would worry. He got a little momentum by running to Iwaizumi and jumped towards him. Iwaizumi caught Oikawa by the hips in an over-the-head boat lift and slowly brought him down as the song faded out, their bodies flush against each other. And for the first time since the song started they broke eye contact to close their eyes and kiss. It felt so utterly natural, as if all these months were a set up for this moment.

Oikawa pulled away, "So does this mean I should kiss my partner at practice?"

"I'm going to punch you." Iwaizumi spat, his mouth curving into a grin.

* * *

Yet, nothing really changed.

The searing glances shared between them and that stubborn tension, that all was there from the moment they met each other. The kiss hadn't changed anything. Especially since neither of them had the courage to bring it up, nor the urgency to push anything forward. _Not right now_ , they'd think. _It's best to focus on the performance_. And with these itching feelings, they stayed together after practice and ran the routine countless times. Oikawa was slowly getting better at expressing himself and it was showing in regular practice; his teacher barely gave him any negative feedback. They both knew that these not-so-secret meetings, these few hours of bodily communication, were now becoming useless.

But Oikawa didn't want to stop. He knew he had to, the extra practice was cutting into their time to do homework and midterms were right around the corner, but he was starting to realize that he loved dancing with Iwaizumi. He couldn't put his finger on why it felt so different than dancing in class. Well, actually, it wasn't very hard to at least take a guess. His attraction to Iwaizumi formed itself in warm tingles every time they touched, only getting hotter with the duration of other's hold on him. Even when Iwaizumi wasn't assisting him on a move and they did their separate floor work, his skin prickled in anticipation for the next time Iwaizumi would touch him. There were many moments that Iwaizumi's rough hand, placed right at the base of Oikawa's spine, held them so close together that they could feel all the slight contours of the other's body. It didn't take long for Oikawa to memorize every curve of Iwaizumi's abs, as well as discover the slight tinge of earthy green in Iwaizumi's brown eyes.

"We should stop doing these extra practices. You already got the hang of it."

It wasn't surprising. He knew that Iwaizumi would be the first one to mention something, but the way he said it with such ease did sting quite a bit. Oikawa thought that maybe, with the way Iwaizumi's breath ghosted over his ear, tickling the back of his neck, that maybe they shared the mutual desire to keep this going. Oikawa chugged down the water in his bottle as a last hope to cool his body, throbbing from the fingerprints Iwaizumi pressed into his skin. Unlike him, Iwaizumi had his priorities in check. It was infuriating, but it was better this way.

Oikawa put his hand on his hip, "Aw, are you saying you hate spending time alone with me?"

Iwaizumi zipped his dance bag, "You know that's not what I'm saying, idiot."

"Yeah," Oikawa smirked, "I know. I get it, mom. I'll make sure to rest up, eat properly, and do my homework."

"Good." Iwaizumi mumbled, walking ahead to the door, "And stop calling me mom."

Oikawa waved, "Good night."

"Night."

As Oikawa watched Iwaizumi's broad shoulders walk farther away, a tiny bit of sadness peeked through his confident expression. They kept, quite literally, dancing around the subject. He didn't need a definition or a label, he just wanted to clarify just a bit more what exactly their relationship was. But then, there was his pride; he would never ask Iwaizumi up front. He felt like he was the one constantly chasing after Iwaizumi, and he couldn't stand seeming like some love-struck idiot who desperately wanted to start something. He was much better than that. He refused to be the first to go weak at the knees, even if that meant infinitely hiding all these strange urges stirring in his chest.

And contrary to his expectations, hiding his feeling wasn't too difficult a feat. After all, he rarely saw Iwaizumi. Now that they weren't having an after-practice rendezvous, the only times he could see him was during practice, and even then, they rarely spoke. They only traded curious glances, and on Oikawa's part, the occasional childish expression. To everyone else in the room, they had never exchanged even a word. No one knew how Oikawa's eyes secretly followed Iwaizumi's figure through every movement, no one except Iwaizumi. Oikawa has never been one to be shy; sure, he was purposefully, almost sulkily, being passive at the moment, but only so he could force Iwaizumi to make the first move. _Patience._ But at least Oikawa was now certain he had Iwaizumi's attention— he could feel Iwaizumi's gaze on his back, as if it was tracing patterns in the space between his shoulder blades.

These feelings were lopsided, messy, and vague, but unequivocally mutual.

"Do you always eat alone?"

The husky voice jerked Oikawa from his thinking, a mental maze that was currently the cause of his food growing cold. He looked up to see Iwaizumi sporting a mildly amused grin and sighed, "Iwa-chan, you better not be assuming that I have no friends. Because I do."

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, shifting his tray to his left hand, "Wow, for being the snarkiest diva I know, you really can't take a joke."

"Well, how many divas do you know?"

"Not very many."

Oikawa looked down at his soup, "You can sit down, you know. You look like a weirdo just standing there." He smirked, "Unless asking permission to sit with me wasn't your original plan?"

Iwaizumi sat down, rolling his eyes, "I'm starting to regret it."

They ate in silence for a while, the buzzing of the cafeteria and the clanks of their plates filling the air between them. It wasn't necessarily awkward. It was natural that they had to get accustomed to seeing each other not as dancers, but as normal college students with interests and hobbies outside of dancing. But this somewhat stifled air brought back a question that often lay on the forefront of Oikawa's mind: what did he like about this guy? Truthfully, outside of his wonderful dance ability and delectable body, he barely knew anything about Iwaizumi. And that led to: did he actually have a crush on this guy? It could possibly be, strictly, sexual attraction.

He was positive similar questions were floating in Iwaizumi's mind.

"Um, so what are you planning to major in."

"Man, straight to the hard-hitting questions, Iwa-chan. Is that how you pick up girls?" Oikawa mocked.

"Has anyone ever told you what a grating personality you have?"

"No, actually, you might be the first."

"They weren't being honest, then."

"Ouch." Oikawa chuckled, "We're still freshman so I'm not really sure, but I think I want to major in business."

"Hmm, I guess I could see that."

"Because of my charming aura?"

Iwaizumi's lips formed into a teasing smile, "Sure, something like that."

Oikawa puffed out his cheeks, "Jerk. What do you want to major in, then?"

"Medicine."

"Oh," Oikawa crossed his arms, "That's actually super surprising. Don't you need to, you know, be gentle to be a doctor? You seem like such a brute."

Iwaizumi cocked his head to the side, "Well, that's because you haven't seen my gentle side. If you'd stop being such a douche all the time, then maybe—" He abruptly cut himself off, as if he was walking on a mine-loaded field. He cleared his throat and lowered his eyes to the level of the glass of milk in front of him.

"Maybe what?" Oikawa challenged.

"Nothing."

It wasn't a blushing stammer or his irritated mumble; it was a stern, final reply. And if there was something Oikawa was sure he knew about Iwaizumi it was that his stubbornness matched his own. This topic was completely off limits.

"Okay, then." Oikawa put his hands up defensively, "No need to get so snappy."

Iwaizumi sighed, "I wasn't being snappy."

Oikawa leaned forward, elbows on the table and hands cupping his face. He was tired of this shit. Neither of them was being honest, instead they were having sass competitions laced with unsatisfied libidos. Something, he needed to get something from Iwaizumi—a reaction, an answer, anything that pulled them out of this monotone pattern they were falling into. Oikawa's eyes scanned Iwaizumi's face, now quite alert with this unwanted attention, and the rest of his upper body, resting on the cellphone a few centimeters way from Iwaizumi's left hand.

"We should exchange phone numbers."

"Huh? Where did that come from?"

Oikawa pursed his lips, "You really need to ask that? After all those one-on-one dance practices, Iwa-chan?"

"…Fine."

They traded phones and inputted their information. Oikawa made sure to add a heart to the end of his own name, which earned him a glare from Iwaizumi (even though he made no effort to change it). Iwaizumi was the first to check the time on his phone and make the predictable homework excuse. They walked together to empty their trays, Oikawa making unnecessary jokes about Iwaizumi's height and exaggeratedly wincing when the other nudged him sharply in the ribs. It made sense that Iwaizumi was always wearing less layers than those around him; his skin was so damn warm to the touch. Maybe it was that excessive temper of his. After a few more crude jokes, and Iwaizumi's hand roughly mussing Oikawa's hair to show that yes, he could reach that high, they went their separate ways. On the way back to his dorm, Oikawa raked his fingers through his hair, eyes closed as he tried to remember the feeling of Iwaizumi's hand on his head. With the way his cheeks burned up when alone, ditching that act of nonchalance he always put in front of Iwaizumi, he started to wonder if maybe he should major in theater.

He was sinking.

At first, Oikawa only sent a text here and there—usually of the annoying nature—just to keep his existence at the front of Iwaizumi's mind. But unconsciously, it increased to at least one text a day. The texts were a mix of morning or night greetings, the occasional dinner invitation (which Iwaizumi only accepted if Oikawa was going to swipe for him), and pretty much any random thought that popped into Oikawa's head. Of course, not _every_ thought, since then most of those texts would say 'I want to see you'. Yeah, Oikawa was sure Iwaizumi would block his number, or at the very least complain about the influx of silly messages, but he didn't. He didn't go as far as to initiate a conversation, and he didn't always reply, but when he did, he often replied with emoticons. Oikawa understood that it was only because the emoticons took the least amount of effort, but he still thought it was adorably out-of-character.

And the more he learned about Iwaizumi, the rapid fluctuations of his mood, his occasional booming laugh, the unconcerned way he shaped his hair, the dial-like pressure control he had to his usually harsh digits, the more Oikawa's mind filled with imaginary scenarios. Iwaizumi was always rough with him, and though that mental image alone sent a bolt up his spine, he was sure that a feathery touch from him would be bliss. It was unsightly, really, how daydreaming and pen cap biting had become part of his daily habits, but he figured if he didn't let it effect his grades or dancing, there wasn't any harm in it. He especially tried his best to reel it in for dance practice, reminding himself that even though he was the best, he needed to concentrate on bettering himself, but his eyes would still selfishly follow Iwaizumi.

"I know you all want to rush off but I have an announcement. Gather around," commanded their teacher, her nasally voice ringing through the room. They all trudged back to the center, dance bags and outdoor shoes at hand.

"In this piece there will be a section for a female solo and one for a male solo as well. Anyone who wants to audition for the solo needs to come up with four eight counts of choreography. You can use the first 20 seconds of the song or the 20 seconds after the one minute and 25 second point. Auditions will be in two weeks. That is all." She clapped her hands to signal the end of practice and the group dispersed in murmurs and whispers.

Oikawa excitedly hummed a tune as he packed his bag; his insistent need to have it completely ordered before stepping out the door was the main reason he was always last to leave. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder and turned around, the smile on his face gradually shrinking as he registered the expression on his teacher's face.

"…Oikawa."

He immediately straightened up, wary of the tone of her voice, "Yes?"

"I was very happy that you were able to finally express yourself in the duets. I know you've struggled a bit with lyrical, but being the talented dancer that you are, I always believed you would master it." She sighed, "Yet, you've been lacking concentration lately. You've always been a favorite of mine but if you truly want this solo, you'll need to buckle down. Or someone whose more of a natural at lyrical, like Iwaizumi, might take the spot from you."

And she walked away completely unaware of the carnage she had just sparked.

Did she do it on purpose? Did she knowingly pinch the nerves that would hurt Oikawa the most? It didn't matter; the damage was done. Oikawa stood there, palms sweating so much his bag slipped to the floor. _It wasn't too late._ He chewed on his bottom lip and paced around the room, palms pressed to his temples in an attempt to block the erratic heartbeat flooding his ears. _It wasn't working._ He needed to reset himself to who he was before Iwaizumi stepped into this practice room that one night. Fuck the admiration, the addictive giddy feelings; he only needed the desire for dominance as fuel. After eating too many sweets, there was now a need to hide his heart behind steel like a rotting cavity. He was naïve to think that his envy and love could ever coexist.

Oikawa had happily let his feelings sink him.

But now here, all the way at the bottom, he realized he had run out of air.


	2. Failli

It was the 9th day.

Since the night that the audition was announced, Oikawa made sure get at least two to three hours of practice every day. _Alone_. He didn't know in which studio or at what time the other contenders where practicing, but it was a well-established fact that right after practice or generally after nine pm, this studio belonged to Oikawa. But because there were previous occasions that he found oblivious people using this space, he made sure to reserve the room for the two weeks until the audition. He was sure that to some of the other dancers this was overkill—he was already so talented; he surely didn't need all this practice. They were wrong. Making choreography took time, perfecting every slide of the foot, flick of the arm, even direction he was facing took time, and all the while he had to squeeze more than his body's worth of effort. To say the very least, he was a perfectionist, but even more than that, he despised being haphazard towards the things he loved. And at the very moment, not getting the solo would feel like he didn't do enough, especially when he was sure it was well within his capacity.

The whole situation drew a dry laugh from his chest. As he checked his form in the mirror, he caught a glimpse of his face and had to do a double take. He looked so much like his sister, Tsubaki. That piercing glare of concentration, the tension in his lips, and the slight scrunch of the nose were all things he inherited from her. And as odd a thing it was to say that he inherited traits from a sibling, the ten-year gap and the fact that he spent more time with her than he did with his parents combined, made the whole comparison more reasonable. Being reminded of her threw more unnecessary feelings into the messy swirl in his heart, the old strands of dependency still not completely cut off, but it also brought a tiny smile to his face.

Tsubaki was the catalyst for him starting ballet at the age of five. Since he was born, his mother had taken him to Tsubaki's ballet classes and recitals, rarely missing even one. He spent more of his childhood watching his sister dance than he did watching TV. But he didn't care; it was enchanting the way his sister flittered across the stage, drawing all eyes to her graceful form. And he wanted to be up there with her. After nagging his mother, and with Tsubaki's help, he was able enroll in the same dance center as his sister. For the first year or two, things went smoothly. He diligently learned the basics, making sure to practice at home with his sister, and he steadily progressed through the levels. He was attached at the hip to Tsubaki whenever they weren't in class, but when she was busy, he hanged out with all of the friends he had made at the center. Back then things were this blissful, pale blue—serene and innocent. But as his talent developed at an unnaturally quick speed, those 'friends' stopped talking to him, their eyes tinged with envy. He no longer was known as 'Tsubaki's brother', instead, he had made a very lonely name for himself.

None of it mattered; just as long as he had dance and Tsubaki, he would be fine. She was his support and inspiration; all he had to do was run up the path she had set before him until he could finally reach her. What a stupid thought that was. Even if he thought Tsubaki was the most breathtaking ballet dancer he had ever seen, the dance world wasn't so kind. After years of struggling to be recognized, swinging in and out of small dance company after company, his resilient sister gave up her dream of a professional dance career. Oikawa was eleven, then, and for the first time the feelings of betrayal racked his body. He was petty and curt towards her, as if she didn't already have a million worries weighing her down. But his rebellious attitude was quickly cut short when he heard her quiet sobs and a whispered conservation in their kitchen one night; Tsubaki was pregnant.

It all proceeded quite orderly. Tsubaki made the official announcement the next day, she married her boyfriend a few months later, and then finally, Takeru was born. With the baby returned Tsubaki's gentle smile and her willingness to not completely shun ballet, so the young mother became a ballet teacher. Oikawa was now a loving uncle and he often kept his sister and adorable nephew company. But in reality, he felt lonely. It had smacked him in the face that at the end of the day, all he really had was dance. And though it was dance alone that could act as his escape and support, he was determined to never be as naïve as his sister. Becoming a pro was impossible; he was satisfied with just being the best until he graduated college. _Dance was just a hobby._ And in an attempt to further drill this motto into his head and avoid being his sister's copy, he quit ballet and began contemporary midway through high school.

Oikawa understood that his form of escape was also another channel of stress. It seemed like college students these days dipped and dabbed into different stresses, whether that'd be fruitless relationships or alcohol, constantly switching, so that one stress could be a distraction to the other. Without these stresses, it wouldn't be 'the college life'. But humans grow under pressure, and at least to him, dance did more good than harm. Even at the present moment, when every muscle of his was lined with anxiety over the coming audition, his mind felt calm. When he practiced by himself, he could drag his worries to the front of his mind and confront them. He'd close his eyes, the choreography already muscle memory, and admit everything he'd never want to say out loud.

 _You're being an asshole._ Chasse, Assemblé, then Attitude. _Hold_. He knew, very well, how much of a douche he was being to Iwaizumi. He was completely avoiding him and when he couldn't, like when Iwaizumi approached him in practice or when he came at night to check on Oikawa, he would flat-out ignore him. Iwaizumi would press his lips into a thin line, expression a mix of anger and disappointment, and then he would walk away. Yet he would continue trying, no matter how many times Oikawa snubbed him. Release, Contract, and Battement Jeté. _Check your alignment_. And every time Iwaizumi attempted to convince Oikawa that he was practicing too much, that he looked pale, that he will injure himself, Oikawa would notice his voice fluctuating from irritation to genuine worry. And that made it all that much harder. Oikawa was still figuring out how to balance his growing love for Iwaizumi and the rancid envy that bubbled in his chest every time he saw Iwaizumi dance. There was a prickling fear working its way up Oikawa's leg, a fear of being inferior to him, or more accurately, a fear of not being good enough for him. And this mixed with his maybe not-so-slight superiority complex. So he decided to queue those feelings, only chipping at them occasionally, until after auditions.

But things never went that smoothly.

The stress on his body had been adding up. A few days ago he started feeling a slight pinch, and then a tug every time he put his weight on his right leg. Oikawa ignored it. He really wanted this solo and if he stretched properly and iced, he was sure he'd be okay.

Bourre, Grand Jeté— _shit_. His ankle was throbbing a bit. But he only had a few movements left in the piece. He'd stop practicing right after he finished going through this run. And then he'd take a day or two off to let his body rest. He bit his bottom lip and shifted his weight to his right for the final fouettes. He took a deep breath in the first turn, and exhaled by the second, but just as he was completing his third turn he found himself falling straight down to the floor. He was on the floor in a split second and just as he started to register that he had fallen, a visceral, teeth-grinding pain shot up from his ankle. His hands immediately reached down to hold his ankle; eyes squeezed shut, the delayed snap resounding like echoes in his head. _Fuck_. He lay down on his side while holding his leg in agony, dizziness disrupting his thoughts and tears beginning to stream down his face. _It was over. There is no way I could get the solo like this._ Oikawa's breath came out in short, pained bursts, and in tune with the trembling of his body. He wanted to puke. All his efforts were for nothing. _Iwaizumi had warned me._ He'd seen it coming a mile away, but Oikawa would have rather dig himself into the ground before losing to anyone. Maybe he had wanted to break.

Oikawa curled into himself and tried to keep awake, matching his breathing to the beat of 'You found me' in the background. This was pathetic. He needed to get up but it hurt too much, and he kind of wanted to sink into the ground. Just as the tears started to pool on the floor beneath his cheek, he heard footsteps getting closer. _Iwaizumi_. He used his left arm to force his body to sit up, being careful to keep his right leg from touching anything.

"Oikawa?" Iwaizumi walked closer to him, reaching out to tap him on the shoulder, "Are you oka—

Oikawa slapped his hand away with all the strength he could muster, face stained with tears and lips quivering. Iwaizumi was the last person he wanted to see right now. Oikawa didn't want him to see what a mess he was. He didn't want his pity. "Don't touch me," his voice was hoarse and low.

"What the hell?!" Iwaizumi boomed, glaring at Oikawa as he cradled his bright red hand. His eyes landed on Oikawa's ankle, now very visibly swollen, and froze there, "…Oikawa, your ankle."

"Just leave me the fuck alone" Oikawa screamed, voice cracking and breath irregular. He pressed his palm to his pounding head, fingers digging into his hair. There were so many things he wanted right now. He still wanted to puke. He wanted his ankle to stop hurting so much. And he wanted Iwaizumi out of his field of vision, far away, where he could do no harm to his ragged heart.

"Stop being an idiot, "Iwaizumi's voice was soft and his face was plagued with worry, "Let me carry you downstairs. We'll call campus security to drive us to the health center."

"No." Oikawa let out a scratchy, dry laugh, "Why are you so concerned about me?" He paused, only able to get out a few words with every short breath, "I was fine before you came into my life. I was perfectly fine before. So stop bothering with me. Especially if you are going to continue stepping all over the things I love." He clutched his chest; the lack of oxygen was making his mind hazy. "I'm sick of you."

"I'm sorry." Iwaizumi's eyes met Oikawa's, "I promise to get out of your hair. Just, let's get you to the health center."

"No."

"Please." Iwaizumi said sternly, voice dripping with desperation.

Oikawa wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and looked down at his swollen ankle. It had grown twice its size. He wasn't stupid, he knew dancing on this ankle was a lost cause for now, but he should probably go get it checked anyhow. He must have done something really bad to it if the pain was strong enough to fray his consciousness like this, even now his body felt so drained he could black out at any moment. Oikawa looked up again, eyebrows furrowed, "Fine."

Iwaizumi knelt on one knee, bringing one arm around Oikawa's torso and the other under his legs, cautious, softly—as if he were fragile. It was the gentlest Iwaizumi had ever touched him. Oikawa wordlessly hooped his arms around Iwaizumi's neck, burying his face in the arm that was curving behind. He could feel his breath returning to him, his lungs filling up with the light cinnamon scent of Iwaizumi's skin. With the released tension, his body sinking further into Iwaizumi's embrace, he had a heightened sense of the pain in his ankle. And the trembling wouldn't stop. But now that his mind was coming down from the panic-induced high, he could close his eyes and let his consciousness slip away.

* * *

The next time Oikawa opened his eyes he was at the health center, foot in a cast, alone. He rubbed at his tender eyes and let out a sigh, turning his head to face the door. The doorknob wiggled and in came one of the nurses, a bright smile on her face. She set down the tray of food she had on the nightstand beside Oikawa's table and focused her attention on the clipboard in her other hand.

"Good morning, honey. How are you feeling?"

Oikawa stared at the ceiling, "Just peachy."

She laughed, probably already used to this kind of reaction from her more snarky patients. "Well, I brought you some food. You can eat that when you'd like. Aside from your Grade I sprain, you were also suffering from a bit of anemia and dehydration. Especially as a dancer, you need to take better care of your body."

"Hm."

"Once we get you fitted for crutches, you can be on your way. You have to stay off this leg for around a month."

Oikawa's eyes widened, "A month?! That means I won't make it in time for the show!"

"I'm sorry, but doctor's orders. If you don't let it heal properly, it'll become a persistent issue."

"Yeah." Oikawa raked his hand through his hair, "I'm not really hungry so can I get my crutches now? I just want to go back to my room."

"Sure. Let me get the wheelchair from the hallway and then we'll go get your crutches."

"Um…was there ever another guy here?"

The nurse smiled, "Oh, your friend? He stayed with you for a few hours and then went home."

"I see."

He wasn't surprised. _I did tell him I was sick of him_. He just felt incredibly…lousy.

The nurse wheeled him to the other room and fitted him for his metal crutches. Even with padding, the part that was supposed to go under his armpits was incredibly uncomfortable. But at least at the end of this torturous month, his arms would look all nice and chiseled. That was one positive—the only positive in this whole situation.

After receiving a pack of pain medication and thanking the nurse, Oikawa slowly made his way to his dorm. It was Tuesday afternoon so he was sure everyone in his suite was in class right now. He was completely free on Tuesday, his Wednesdays usually being his bulkiest day of the week, but he wasn't sure if he was up to going to class tomorrow. Or the day after that… He took his ID out of his pocket and swiped into the dorm, limping over to the elevator. It wasn't until he reached his door that he realized he didn't have his room key, or phone, they were in the dance bag that he had left in the studio the previous night. But surprisingly, that dance bag was sitting right in front of his door. There was a note on top of it with 'get well, dumbass' scribbled on it. It was sweet that even after all the crap Oikawa told Iwaizumi, he still did these kinds of things, but it also made Oikawa feel like even more of an asshole. He leaned forward to unlock the door, pushing the dance bag with his crutch as he wobbled into his room. He sat on the bed and let the crutches fall to the floor. Even after all those hours he slept, he was exhausted—mentally, physically, and definitely emotionally. He deserved at least two days of rest. He was acing all his classes and had only one absence, missing a few classes wouldn't plummet his grades. So, he slept.

But the exhaustion wouldn't go away. And with it came an unexplainable emptiness.

Nevertheless, on Thursday morning Oikawa forced himself out of bed and attended class. And did the same thing the next day, and the next. He was always late, of course, but the teachers understood once they saw the cast and crutches. He could almost suffocate in the tangible pity; doors were being held, trays being carried, some kid from his class even pulled out a chair for him in the dinning hall. He didn't mind it, it made him feel like royalty, but it didn't help his mood. _Something's missing_. And usually, his mind would easily jump to the lack of dance being the answer to this emptiness, but the itching in the back of his throat hinted that he was more bothered by Iwaizumi at the moment. He knew that dance would always be with him, whether he did it in a studio with a dance group or alone. But Iwaizumi, that guy was still a mystery.

He hadn't so much caught a glimpse of him in the last two weeks. Partially because he was always walking to class five minutes after it had started, partially because his lack of appetite had him skipping meals more often than he should, partially because when he did get hungry, he would binge eat whatever he ordered at really odd times at night, but mostly because Iwaizumi was damn good at 'staying out of his hair'. _Annoyingly good_. Oikawa wanted him to stop. He wanted to run into him, tell him a crude joke, and hear Iwaizumi call him stupid while ruffling his hair knowingly. He was scared, but he wanted to ask him who got the male solo, and hide his broken pride with an arrogant remark.

It was petty, borderline immature, but he wanted to see Iwaizumi right now.

Oikawa patted the bed for his cellphone and checked the time. It was ten at night; Iwaizumi should have been finishing his homework, playing video games, or something, but definitely not sleeping. It was okay that he was always the one doing the chasing; he just wanted to finally be honest. Being proactive was more his style, anyway. He didn't understand why he had held himself back for so long. Sure, there was the whole 'focus on dance' thing, but since that no longer was an option, he might as well give his heart a bit of peace.

 **To: Iwaizumi**

You free right now? Can you come to my room?

 **From: Iwaizumi**

For what? I'm doing hw.

 **To: Iwaizumi**

We need to talk, and you know it.

 **From: Iwaizumi**

Yeah…I'll be there in ten.

Oikawa spent the next few minutes looking up at his ceiling, tracing the faint alien glow-in-the-dark stickers he had scattered above his bed with his eyes. There was a slight tinge of nervousness pricking his stomach, but most of what he was feeling was excitement. Oikawa didn't exactly know what he would say to Iwaizumi when he did get here, he was hoping that Iwaizumi would be the first to talk, but he was determined to be mercilessly blunt. He wasn't going to let either of them run away like they had done in the past.

Oikawa heard two knocks on the door. He sat up, his legs in a comfortable and safe diamond position, and yelled 'come in'. When Iwaizumi stepped into the room the tension became palpable, as if all these days without seeing each other had starved a piece inside of them. But like in dance, Iwaizumi's movements always exuded control. He closed the door behind him and carefully approached Oikawa's bed, his serious eyes locked with Oikawa's.

Oikawa pat the space next to him on his bed, "The closer, the better."

"I thought you were sick of me?" Iwaizumi challenged, kicking off his sneakers before sitting next to Oikawa. "You're also doing better than I thought."

"Sure, that's what you think" Oikawa scoffed, coming off a bit more acerbic than he'd like. "Anyway, how did you know where I lived without me telling you, Mr. dance bag delivery man?"

"If you know already, don't ask, dumbass."

Oikawa looked down at this bed, tracing the UFO shapes with his finger. He should probably be embarrassed to have such a childish obsession, but he was sure his good looks made up for his flaws. At least Iwaizumi hadn't commented on it yet.

"But sometimes I want you to actually say it." Oikawa looked up through his lashes, curious to see Iwaizumi's expression.

Iwaizumi rubbed his neck, his eyebrows furrowed, "Well, sometimes it's hard to say it."

"Try harder."

"I was worried about you." Iwaizumi sighed, hands unconsciously playing with a loose thread from Oikawa's comforter, "But you didn't seem to want me around so I just bailed."

"It's not like that," Oikawa grinned and walked his fingers closer to Iwaizumi's. "I just really suck at keeping a lid on my competitiveness. I've always been the best at dancing wherever I went, but then you came a long, and my envy just took over. Also, given the fact that you look like a football player, I find the whole situation completely unfair."

"Why do you always say things to make me want to punch you?"

"Defense mechanism?"

Iwaizumi closed the distance between their hands, intertwining his fingers with Oikawa's, "Defense from what?"

Oikawa pouted, "Oh, no. I am not going to be the first one to say it. I've been doing all the work up till now."

"You're such a brat. Fine, I'll say it first. Shittykawa, I like you."

"That wasn't romantic at all! Take it back and say it with more feeling next time." Oikawa felt his cheeks grow warm and he bit his bottom lip, his eyes glued to the amused grin playing out on Iwaizumi's face.

"Maybe. I'll say it again after you say it."

"No, you first, jerk."

Iwaizumi clicked his tongue, "You see, you're always joking. You're only serious when it comes to dance."

"And you." Oikawa leaned closer, bringing the back of Iwaizumi's hand to his lips, "I wouldn't joke about my feelings for you."

Oikawa's rare serious tone—those glossy eyes unabashedly staring at him—was enough to bring a slight shade of red to Iwaizumi's cheeks. Which in turn caused Oikawa's blush to reach his ears. And they just sat there, embarrassment and secondhand embarrassment mixing with the pool of giddy feelings and urgent desires.

"Hey, Iwa-chan" Oikawa leaned back on his elbows and straightened his injured leg so it lay on top of Iwaizumi's legs. He smirked, his voice honeyed, "Spoil me."

Iwaizumi's eyes flickered from Oikawa's face to his leg, and back again. He was trying to determine if Oikawa was joking, and judging from the hand ghosting over Oikawa's leg, he found his answer. Iwaizumi brought his hand under Oikawa's right knee, giving it a kiss before he slowly pushed it closer to Oikawa and outwards. This allowed him enough space to slot his body in-between Oikawa's legs. He was hyperaware of Oikawa's injury and the usual ferocity that laced his every movement was now replaced by a persistent cautiousness. Albeit a bit boring, it was completely endearing—and also traveling straight to Oikawa's dick. Oikawa relished every touch, his eyes starting to glaze over with need and his mouth twitching for attention. Oikawa pressed his fingers into Iwaizumi's bicep and dragged them down until he reached the hand that was tenderly holding his right knee. He pried Iwaizumi's hand away and kept his leg lifted to the same height, his lips forming a smirk.

"It's not like I messed up my whole leg, mom. Don't worry so much."

"You never know—"

"Shh." Oikawa pulled Iwaizumi by the hand as he lay back, and Iwaizumi played along, placing his hands on either side of Oikawa's head. They took this time to admire the sight before them, their impatience climbing, and the air between them tangibly growing warmer. _More_. Oikawa hooked his legs around Iwaizumi's waist and brought him closer so that their lower bodies were flushed against each other. He deliberately licked his lips, almost laughing at how Iwaizumi's eyes followed his tongue from start to finish. Iwaizumi cupped Oikawa's chin and ran his thumb across those tempting lips—Oikawa totally had this in the bag. Iwaizumi inched closer at a tortuous pace, lowering himself down on his forearms, eyes closing, breath audible, and finally, their lips met. Oikawa sighed into the kiss and brought his hand up to Iwaizumi's neck, digging his hand into his hair. He tugged at it gently, breath catching in his throat when Iwaizumi let out a quiet moan.

"So you have a hair pulling kink," Oikawa whispered.

"At least I'm not a loser with an alien comforter," Iwaizumi retorted, lips again pressed to Oikawa's to drink up any other stupid comments. Their tongues switched between circling each other lethargically and forcefully rubbing, each trying to probe every inch of the other's mouth. Iwaizumi sucked carefully on Oikawa's tongue to break the kiss; he wanted to move his attention elsewhere. He ghosted his lips over Oikawa's skin until he reached his neck and he picked a spot close the crook to bite, hard. Oikawa yelped, but just as he was going to complain, Iwaizumi brought down his hips to grind their erections together. It was an intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain. Oikawa didn't even mind if it bruised, the way Iwaizumi was licking and sucking his neck was enough to make him hazy. He closed his eyes and turned his head to give Iwaizumi more access, moans dripping from his mouth.

"Hng…people are going to ask me if a vampire attacked me," Oikawa huffed as his hands slipped under Iwaizumi's shirt and caressed his back.

Iwaizumi raised his eyebrow, a sly grin on his face, "You know you say the stupidest things, right?"

Oikawa's hands feathered to Iwaizumi's abs and down to his jeans, "Well, little Iwa-chan here finds me cute either way."

Iwaizumi groaned at the pet name and continued his barrage of assaults on Oikawa's body. He lifted Oikawa's shirt, scattering kisses on his chest, circling his tongue around the aroused nipples, twirling them in his fingers with meticulous care, and all to drive Oikawa completely up the wall. _Two could play that game_. It took Iwaizumi by surprise—he bit his bottom lip, eyebrows knitted, to hold back a moan as Oikawa's hand teased the head of his dick with his finger. But he didn't allow Oikawa to go further; he pulled the hand above Oikawa's head and held it there, undoing Oikawa's pants with his free hand. Iwaizumi pulled Oikawa's pants and underwear just below his balls, and did the same for himself. Oikawa twitched; it was hot, Iwaizumi's ravenous stare was sending bolts up and down his spine, and he wanted release. _More_. Iwaizumi dipped down again, intertwining his fingers with the fingers of the hand he had held above Oikawa's head, and he gripped their erections together with the other hand, thrusting at a temperate pace.

Oikawa shut his eyes to focus on the pleasure rippling through him. His free hand made its way to the base of Iwaizumi's neck and he tugged at his hair again, this time a bit more forcefully. Iwaizumi bucked into the thrust, a low moan rumbling from his throat, and Oikawa threw his head back, unable to control his body's reactions to the stimulation. His legs were quivering and his heart was beating so hard it almost downed out Iwaizumi's heaving breathing. He moved his hips in time with every thrust, encouraging, actually, begging Iwaizumi to go faster, without actually voicing it. But Iwaizumi continued at this pace, his earth-green eyes vindictive, and he engaged Oikawa in another kiss to keep him from even trying to voice a command. It was a bit sloppy, their tongues rushing at each other with hunger, Oikawa biting Iwaizumi's lip with a bit too much force and lapping at the cut apologetically.

With his mouth now free, Oikawa licked the outer edge of Iwaizumi's ear and nipped at his earlobe. The warmth in his stomach was building, he wanted release and he wanted it now. He pressed his lips to Iwaizumi's ears, "Faster." His voice was so thick and needy he couldn't recognize it, but he really didn't give a damn as long as it got a reaction from Iwaizumi.

And it sure as hell did. Iwaizumi grunted and immediately picked up the pace; eyes still recording Oikawa's every expression, mouth open, brushing against Oikawa's lips. Oikawa wanted to close his eyes, he felt feverish and he was starting to see white, but he loved the way Iwaizumi looked at him. As if he were enthralled, so absorbed in Oikawa's existence that he could forget everything else in the world. So he kept his eyes open for as long as he could, shameless moan after shameless moan leaving his mouth and seeping through the thin dorm room walls. But when the heat became too much, Oikawa closed his eyes with a final whimper, coming hard onto his stomach. Iwaizumi climaxed a few seconds after him and they rode the aftershocks together.

They were quiet as their bodies calmed down.

Oikawa tried to will his body to stop quivering, a bit shocked at how sensitive he could be, but ultimately gave up. Iwaizumi already knew; there really was no point in trying to hide it now. He slowly opened his eyes and locked them to the ones staring down at him, a huge smile on his face.

"That was…something."

Iwaizumi chuckled and gave him a chaste kiss, "Don't let it go to your head." He carefully freed himself from the tangle of limbs and grabbed the box of tissues, cleaning himself and Oikawa up.

Oikawa lay on his side, "That's it? We're done?"

"Yeah, I need to head back to my room and do homework."

"So you use me and then throw me out. Just sleep over, you meanie."

Iwaizumi walked over and carded his hand through Oikawa's hair, "I can't. If I stay here any longer, I'll probably jump you."

"I don't mind."

"But I do. I would never forgive myself if you reinjured your ankle.

Oikawa smiled—an honest, almost shy smile, "Well, next time, then."

Iwaizumi squeezed Oikawa's hand, "Next time."

He properly zipped his pants and shuffled into his shoes, walking backwards towards the door. They were both such dorks, denying their feelings, and prioritizing like responsible adults were supposed to do. Weren't college students supposed to live on the edge? They certainly didn't.

"When my ankle gets better, could you also teach me everything I missed?"

Iwaizumi sucked his teeth; "You are going to have to start paying me overtime."

"Just as long as you don't mind me paying with my body."

Iwaizumi furrowed his eyebrows, "We'll talk about that when you actually get better, idiot" and closed the door behind him.

Oikawa laughed through his nose and let out a blissful sigh.

Things had changed between them, but just slightly.

It was a good kind of change.


End file.
